The Story of Amos Diggory: A Father Without a Son
by Her-My-Oh-Knee
Summary: My name is Amos Diggory. I am a wizard. I have a wife and son. Had a son, that is. He was murdered two months ago. I will never see him again. I…. will never see my Cedric again. No, no, I cannot think about that right now. I must think on other things. I must think on the good time; the good times before I lost my son. One shot, cannon


**Disclaimer: All characters and their stories belong to J.K. Rowlings**

** The Story of Amos Diggory: The Father Without a Son**

My name is Amos Diggory. I am a wizard. I have a wife and son. Had a son, that is. He was murdered two months ago. I will never see him again. I…. will never see my Cedric again. No, no, I cannot think about that right now. I must think on other things. I must think on the good time; the good times before I lost my son. I better start at the beginning, if I want to think on the good things for a while.

I grew up in a wonderful family. I was born on September 13th, 1949, as the only brother to four older sisters. My father, whom I called Da, was thrilled to finally have some extra male influence in the house. We were a family of wizards with wizard neighbors, wizard holidays, and lived the "wizard way of life." When we were young, our fights often made pipes in the house burst; once my oldest sister Rosanna and I were fighting so much that my temper made her head swell to three times its normal size. My mother was so furious with me that she swore she would never let me go to Hogwarts, for fear that I would cause a ruckus. She never would raise a hand against me though; neither of my parents would. Despite all the arguments, my sisters and I were great friends. They would make me dress like a girl and have tea parties with them, I would make them put on pads and play quidditch with me. We vacationed in the mountains every summer, bringing our four bedroom tent. Our life was simple, easy. I always told myself that when I had a son, his life would be like that.

When I turned eleven, I received my Hogwarts letter. My friend Arthur was jealous, that he didn't speak to me for a week; he wouldn't receive his for his for four more months. I was pleased that I was the first of my friends to receive my letter, because in my young mind that meant that I knew more than them, though of course we all passed around the letter, and when Xeno received his a month later all the joy of being able to hold it over their heads was gone. In the fall we went to school, and our lives changed drastically for the first time in our lives. That first year of school felt like the hardest thing I would ever experience, between the classes, the homework, the discipline that I had never experienced at home. Every year grew both harder and easier. I grew accustomed to the ways of Hogwarts, and routine was established. I didn't make the Hufflepuff Quidditch team in my third, because a girl out-scored me as chaser. I was so angry that I lost to a girl, because as a man I was supposed to be sporty, or so I thought. I found my way though. I began dating a girl in my fifth year called Louise, who was supposed to go Beauxbatons in France, but her parents had moved to Britain to work for the Ministry of Magic. I was the first in my year to get a girlfriend, and this made me superior to my friends. We didn't date long; in our sixth year her parents took her back to France to escape the building tensions in Britain. Inside Hogwarts we didn't hear much about it, but in the outside world things were become quite tense. By the time we left Hogwarts at age 17, we were on the brink of war. Within three years it was a full-out battle between good and evil. A man whose name I cannot say…the man who killed my son…my Cedric…. MY BOY!

…. ….

Good things, Amos, think on the good things.

This man rose to power. He built an army, and this army tried to destroy our world. Some of my closest friends were murdered, such as Dean Thomas (Sr. I might add, as he had a son when he died). The people I had grown up with in school joined You-Know-Who's group, known as the Death Eaters; others were just used as pawns in his ploy for power. I stayed out of it. I did not want to join either side, as I knew how it turned out. My own sister, Rosana, joined Albus Dumbledore's army, known as the Order of the Pheonix. She was killed within a week. Elizabeth and Susan, who were two and three years older than me, were trampled by giants in their home. Marsha, my next oldest sister, escaped the war without physical harm, but she lost her husband and children when she refused to join His army. She was never the same again, and the year after the war ended she killed herself.

Sometimes I wonder if she is taking care of my boy, wherever they are.

I stayed out of the way of everyone by working at a shop in Diagon Alley selling books. I served those who had money, and turned away those who didn't, unless they seemed overly threatening. Seven years after my Hogwarts graduation, five years into the War, Myra Edgecomb came to work at the bookshop as my associate, since the last one had been murdered. She was beautiful, witty, and full of spirit. She also happened to be the Hufflepuff who stole my spot on the quidditch team so many years ago. Myra wasn't like me; she didn't let people threaten her. When those who were against the ministry walked into our store she wouldn't let them bully her. I worried that they would retaliate against her, but she told me she thought most of them were ask scared as we were. On our first date we went fishing; she caught the biggest trout I've ever seen. We flew our brooms home, and I kissed her at her doorstep. Six months later we married for fear of not getting the chance later. Our first year of marriage was like a happy retreat from the world. We lived in a small cottage far from civilization, where we hoped we wouldn't be found. She taught me to cook something over than fish and chips, I taught her how to play wizards chess. Our days were filled with work, our evening filled with laughter. She taught me humility, and I taught her patience. Two years later, I came home from a shift at the bookstore to find her crying on the couch. She told we were expecting a child, with tears running down her face, her eyes wide with fear. Neither of us wanted to bring a child into a world of war. I held her close, and whispered words of comfort in her ear, while my own heart beat wildly in my chest.

The next months were full of preparations. Myra's brother got me a job in the Ministry, which scared her more than anything, because it meant we were declaring our side. The Ministry was at war, and it was dangerous place to be, but I had a child coming, and I had to do what I could to prepare the world for him. I found myself employed in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, who was deep in battle with giants. Our part in the war was to try to control the werewolves and giants. We captured an average of one werewolf in league with You-Know-Who a month, which as there were thought to be thousands throughout Great Britain, was not a big difference. The captured werewolves were thrown into Askaban, where they were forced to take Wolfsbane. Of course, after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated, we found that upwards of 65% of the werewolves had been bewitched, but by that time we had wrongly imprisoned them, and we were the enemy. The giants were another story. There seemed to be little we could do that would hurt them, much less kill them. They couldn't be reasoned with; the other side had much more to offer. So we fought as best as we could, without much chance of winning. It seemed like a lost cause to me, but I had to try to make the world right for our baby. In the summer before our baby was born they asked if I would lead a trip to the mountains I had vacationed in as a child to see if would hold the giant population. I refused, claiming that it was too close to Myra's due date, but I really didn't want to risk my life for what I deemed a frivolous venture.

For my 28th birthday Myra threw me a lovely party. She convinced my old friends Dean Thomas, Arthur Weasley, and Xeno Lovegood to come celebrate with us. Arthur and his wife Molly had three boys; the older two ran around the house yelling what the believed to be curses, with young Percy toddling after them yelling as loud as his little lungs would allow. Myra and I would exchange looks every now and then; it was quite preposterous to have that many children in a world like ours, especially with Molly and Arthur being a part of what they were. Their children were the perfect example; no child should pretend to curse anyone at that age.

Myra worked so hard that night. She had prepared a cake and a big dinner for all of us, that we gladly ate. Everyone stayed quite late, enjoying the ease of the night, without having to think of what was happening elsewhere in the country. When I finally locked the door a quarter after one, I heard Myra gasp and a glass shatter in the kitchen. I feared the worst as I ran towards the kitchen, imaging Death Eaters holding her by the hair, werewolves tearing everything apart, a giant food protruding from the roof. When I entered the room, everything was in its place, save the glass broken on the floor. Myra was holding her protruding belly, leaning against the counter. She smiled at me as I went to her side, and pulled my hand to her stomach. She whispered that it was time; that our son was about to enter the world. I carried her to our bed, and at 11:17am that morning our son was delivered into my hands. I laid him against Myra's breast, and held them both as I wept with joy. I had the most beautiful son in the world. His eyes were grey like his mother's, his hair my brown. Golden brown, as Myra called it. The site of him squalling, the feel of his squirmy, tiny body in my hands will forever be burned in my memory.

I took a leave from work to stay home with them, and didn't return for three months. Cedric started crawling at 8 months, and said his first word, DaDa, at 9 ½ months, which happened to be two months before any of the Weasley boys. He was the light of our world, constantly keeping us on our toes, keeping us laughing. He started walking just after his 1st birthday, when he tried to follow me to the front door as I left early one morning. He was a happy baby, always laughing, always trying new things. He always had more bumps and bruises than I could have imagined a youngster could have. Myra always tried to dress him up in little "gentlemen clothes" as she called them, but the suspenders would get caught when he would try to climb a bookshelf, or he would yank the bowtie off and try to put it on the cat. We gave him his own children's broom for his second birthday, and he would gleefully zoom around the house knockings things over until Myra was forced to make him ride it outside.

Cedric didn't know the world outside our home until right before his fourth birthday. The giants had finally been run out of Britain to the mountains, and we were finally gaining some ground on the war. One day received word from Albus Dumbledore that You-Know-Who was gone. He had been destroyed while trying to kill a family, the Potters. The husband and wife, James and Lily Potter, were killed, but their baby had somehow survived the Killing Curse and this had killed You-Know-Who. The entire wizarding world took a deep breath of fresh air, and tried to recover from our great loss. My parents passed away when Cedric was seven, and left us their house. So we moved to Ottery St. Catchpole, and settled in to a routine. Without the stress of the war, the ministry flourished, and I went up in the ranks. I became the head of the Office of House-Elf Relocation, which basically meant that I placed House-Elves in homes. We acquired our own house-elf called Lola to help Myra with the house and garden, so that she could focus more on Cedric, who was quite the adventurer. He would disappear every full moon to go find a mooncalf; he often had bowtruckles tucked in his bag, happily chowing down on wood lice. When he was ten years old he had a flock of pixies chase him home, pulling at his hair and throwing pebbles at him. He ran into the house and slammed the door, tears streaming down his face. Myra and I laughed because he wasn't upset about the pixies hurting him, he was upset because he had stepped on their home, and they had nowhere to go.

Cedric was such a compassionate boy. He cared so much for those around him; he seemed to feel what they felt. When some wizard boys from the neighborhood started picking on a muggle child from the next town over, Cedric got so angry that the boy were blown almost a mile away from the child. Magical law enforcement had to come obliviate her memory.

When it was time for Cedric to go to Hogwarts, we both took his to Kings Cross. Myra was crying, and I was proud. As he boarded the train, I saw his life laid out before us. He would be a star quidditch player, have lots of friends, get all his O.W.L.'s, and go on to be an amazing man. We would have grandchildren, a famous son who would love what he does, and be close until the day I died.

How wrong I was.

Cedric excelled in school. He brought home a new friend every break, and on his fourteenth birthday he admitted to me that he had a crush on a girl in his herbology class. My heart swelled with love whenever I looked at him. He was the best person I knew, because he had taken only the best from Myra and I. We grew closer as he grew older, our relationship changed to friends more than father and son. As an early seventeenth birthday present I took him to the Quidditch World Cup to see his favorite team, Ireland, play. It is one of my favorite memories.

It was announced at the beginning of the school year that the Triwizard tournament was being help at Hogwarts. Myra and I knew before he wrote home to tell us that he would be putting his name in the cup, and when he wrote another letter at Halloween that we could barely read because the handwriting was so sprawled, we knew he would do well. Our Cedric lived for adventure, and what better adventure was there than this? I snuck out to see him at the first competitions, and roared with the crowd when he got the dragon egg. Cedric was needed at the school over the Christmas holiday, so Myra and I went to stay in Hogsmeade, where were able to spend Christmas day with him before the Yule Ball. We gave him a woven case for his wand that he could clip on the inside of his robes, that would keep his wand from being broken when it was within ten feet of the case. Myra helped him get ready for the ball, tying the bowtie he wore with the robes we had purchased for him. I was hurrying him out the door so he wouldn't be late to retrieve the young lady he was taking as his date when he put his hand on my shoulder, and told me how thankful he was that we were friends. My eyes grew moist, and I patted him on the back proudly before he rushed up the path to Hogwarts.

When we heard he had tied for first in the second task we cheered so loud a garden gnome threw a weed at the living room window. For the third task Myra and I were both invited to come witness the third task; a giant maze filled with obstacles. He and Harry Potter would be starting first, which I felt gave him a considerable advantage, considering the Potter boy was just 14 and the others would have five minutes to wait before they were allowed to enter the maze. When the canon rang, we watched out golden-haired son disappear into the dark maze, eager for his return when we could celebrate his victory with him at the party being held after. Myra sat close to my side, her hand on my knee, my arm wrapped around her. We were surrounded by our friends, by our son's friends. We could hear pops and see slight bursts of color from within the maze, and as they grew closer to the center of the maze we cheered louder and louder. About forty-five minutes in Fleur Delacour was brought out unconscious, who was apparently Stunned. I secretly hoped that it was Cedric who had used the charm, though I would never have admitted that. Fifteen minutes later Viktor Krum was brought out, also stunned. We cheered even louder, as this meant it was only Cedric and Harry left, and what competition was Harry, really? We waited for the announcement, which seemed to take forever. Finally, almost an hour later, Cedric appeared.

It all happened so quickly, but at the same time it was like time stopped. I saw Cedric on the ground, and the Triwizard cup next to him, but there was Harry as well, and he was gripping the cup and Cedric. Cedric wasn't moving, and I stood to see if he was hurt. Harry was screaming, people were rushing toward the boys. But Cedric still wasn't moving. I don't remember running down the bleachers, but I must have, as I was then holding Cedric. I gripped his shirt, screaming for my child.

In that moment, as I held my son while his body grew cold, I flashed back to the moment that I held him for the first time; that tiny, screaming, kicking baby. I saw him crying after the pixy attack, I saw him blushing as he told me about the girl he liked, I saw him walking up the road in his dress robes. But all I felt was the unmoving, unspeaking body that was once that child.

I cannot explain the pain one feels when they lose a child. He was my heart and my soul, and that was torn from me. My son, my best friend, my future; he was gone. He is gone. Time ceased to exist when Cedric was murdered. Dumbledore says it was Voldemort. I can't see how anyone but him could take the life of such an innocent and beautiful boy. I know it in the very depths of my soul.

We buried Cedric in our family's plot, under a tree. Myra was silent as I sobbed as his casket was laid in the ground. I saw him only once more after the Third Task, and then I couldn't believe that it was actually him. The thing on that table in the room at St. Mungo's did not look my son; it didn't even look human. He looked like a badly done wax figure, all swollen and pale. I don't even see the real Cedric in my dreams anymore; it's just the waxy fake Cedric. I think Myra sees him too, because I wake to her sobbing in her sleep. I just hold her, as we try to understand the world that took our Cedric.

I haven't returned to work, and I don't believe I ever will. The Ministry refuses to acknowledge that Voldemort murdered my son, and that is back and will do everything in his power to murder their children as well. The tides are growing fierce, and for Myra and I that means we will grow fierce with them. We will not sit by as we did before and let them trample us and our world. We WILL fight. We WILL prevail. We WILL make Cedric proud of his parents, and we will fight with all the spirit that our son possessed.

**Author's Note: Please review! This story is somewhat close to my heart, as I went through a loss this past year. I can identify with Amos, and I hope that other's can as well! Let me know what you think!**


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